Back in the days, six years earlier…
Even though the girl was moving silently as ever and even through the crackling sounds of the last campfire, Elissa could hear her approaching. She hadn't considered that anyone else was still awake. Yes, tomorrow everything would come to an end – either the Blight or their battle against it – and that thought alone had kept all of her followers awake for the most of the night. Yet when they all had gone back to their tents she had expected her companions to get at least a little sleep. Well, obviously not all of them…
"Come sit with me, Leliana. No need to hide."
She did step out of the shadows with a few seconds of hesitation.
"I wasn't hiding. If I had been, I'd have been silent enough not to disturb your brooding."
Elissa smiled.
Of course.
The girl sat down next to her nonetheless. For a moment there was absolute silence, but it didn't last. Of course.
"I came here because this might be one of the last chances to see you, no? Tomorrow you'll be gone – or Alistair or Riordan if I understood correctly."
How could she know about… Elissa interrupted her own thought. It was obvious, wasn't it?
"I see someone has been eavesdropping again?"
"I…might have overheard a thing or two. Accidently."
They both barely suppressed a chuckle. Then the silence again. And again it was Leliana breaking it.
"So, I assume if Riordan fails, it's going to be you, yes?"
Good Leliana. Of course she would have sensed that I am not going to send the future king of Ferelden to his doom.
"You assume correctly. And in part I blame you for that."
"Me? How so?" The girl's facial features actually showed hints of genuine surprise at the mere thought of that.
"Well, before all of this happened I used to be nothing more than a spoiled brat. Not exactly the shining example of a Cousland. But I do think that I grew better in the past year – and I think that to be a result of the people around me. You, for example."
Leliana blushed. "I can hardly see what I have brought to the table."
"Unshakable faith. Actual belief in what you are doing with all the consequences. Tell me: After Lothering didn't you ever have any doubts?"
"Doubts about what? About me? Constantly. About my path and my choices? All the time. About the Maker? Never."
Elissa glanced at her. "That is…admirable. You never thought you might meet a horrible death when going with us?"
Leliana shook her head: "No. Ever since He rescued me from that place of pain, death and…worse…" Her voice grew silent, as she shook away the memories, probably. "Ever since that I just knew that he had a plan for me and that I would not fall until I've fulfilled it. After all: What would have been the point in saving the miserable person I was before if not for a purpose?"
Elissa looked at her as Leliana stared into the flames. At the beginning of their journey she had thought the bard was pretty full of herself – a conclusion that came with the whole 'The Maker himself speaks to me'-thing. But she had learnt since then. Yes, Leliana did think that she was special – but not in an arrogant, self-elevating way, it seemed. With all the consequences whatever they might be. After all in Leliana's head it wasn't yet clear of whether that purpose would entail happiness or pain for her. The Guardian's words might have something to do with that. Or she had just misinterpreted the bard's behaviour before. Now, it seemed, Leliana would accept everything that He would send her way. Even if her purpose would turn out to fall at the Archdemon, tomorrow. Her faith seemed unshakable.
"I do admire you for that."
The girl smiled. "That is nice of you to say. But you have been much more inspirational to other people than I could ever be, Elissa, Warden of the Grey. People look up to you. Whatever you were before the Blight, you are someone much stronger now."
"Yet I have had doubts about my actions and choices all the way up until here. I still do."
"But you did the right thing every time I looked."
Oh, you have no idea.
Elissa sighed and then she fixated her companion. "Leliana, would you think less of me if I told you that, back in the Temple of Sacred Ashes, for the fracture of a second I was unsure of whether…you know…accept Kolgrim's offer and pour the blood into the Ashes?"
Silence.
Then her voice. In a mild tone.
"Temptations lie everywhere, Elissa. And yet you did resist and let your heart guide you."
"But what if I hadn't? What if I had chosen otherwise?"
Leliana turned her head back to the flames and stared into nothingness. "I wouldn't have let it come to that, Warden."
"You would have stood up against me? Against us?"
"Yes, until my last breath."
"You would have fought us?"
"Yes."
"You…against me, Sten and Morrigan?"
"Yes."
"You would have died!"
"No, I would not." the girl stated matter-of-factly. And a faint hint of sadness in her voice she added: "Believe me: I never do. Not until He decides it's my time."
Chapter 5
Ashes
A windmill. Now, that was nice, was it not?
I once took a ride on the…Wait, what?
Leliana blinked and rubbed her eyes; the traditional way to verify something you had just seen but couldn't believe to be real – used by every person ever since the dawn of mankind. Also: futile.
Of course the scenery did not change once she had opened her eyes again. The windmill was still there. So were the blue sky and the green grass.
Better than flames or stones, I suppose.
The returning image of her last memory before everything had faded into black should have brought up panic. It did not. She was calm, absolutely calm.
After taking a few breaths (and foolishly trying the blink-thing again) she considered rising up. It was not an easy decision to make, given that her last memories would suggest her body being totally broken by the collapse of a giant building – or horribly burnt. Not exactly the best state to move a muscle.
But all things considered, the alternative of just lying around and waiting to die out of boredom didn't seem a much better prospect.
So she tried. And noticed that it was surprisingly easy. Far too easy. Getting up wasn't that fluent even when in perfect health. In fact her body didn't seem to have any feeling. Any at all.
Like in a dream. Or…death?
Her surroundings could be explained by both: everything certainly seemed unreal. The grass of a perfect green she had never ever seen like that in all her life. The windmill's sails in perfect, smooth motion (despite the absence of even the slightest breeze). A sky in baby-blue with a rainbow (of course) and a not-warming sun. A single bird up in the air. A rainy cloud nearby. It was like…
...a scene in a children's book.
The thought was not far-fetched at all: Leliana did remember having a book like that. In another lifetime. Well, probably two or three lifetimes ago – she had lost count at some point. More often than not she was surprised that she remembered that little girl at all…it seemed like a completely different person.
Then she saw the bush.
She couldn't really say whether she had just overlooked it at first or whether it hadn't been there a second ago – also she decided that it didn't make any difference in place like that –, but once she did notice it there was not the slightest fragment of a doubt. It was the bush. Grey, twisted and gnarled, the ugliest thing that she ever saw. With a single beautiful rose.
The rosebush in the Chantry. The one that started all this. But, does that mean…?
Before she could finish the thought the rose started to wither. Very fast.
Oh. That can't be good, right?
"So, is this it?" she shouted, almost shocked at her own voice echoing through the silence. "Is this death?"
"Well, I did tell you that this would be your tomb, did I not?"
Leliana flung her whole not-really-body around, her heart beating faster at the sudden presence of another being.
Morrigan!
She had feared to never see her face again just moments ago – and now that she did it seemed to leave her strangely…unaffected. Then her mind began to grasp what the witch had just said.
My tomb.
"The Chantry? That's what the words were about? Maker, how should have seen that coming?"
Morrigan laughed. It was the disdainful, condescending laugh that she had heard more often than not back in the days of the Blight. She had hoped to never hear Morrigan laugh at her like that again.
"'tis ironic, you know? How you of all people cannot seem to fathom the difference between a warning and a prophecy. At what point did I ever promise that you would 'see it coming'? It was a piece of information, not a warning, Leliana."
Leliana stared at her blankly. She did have a point. Still…
"Who are you?"
"I imagine you might have figured that out by now – if nothing else."
"That is not an answer. And…," she paused for a second, "…and no: You cannot be the Him if you mean that."
Morrigan raised an eyebrow. "Curious. And why could I not be Him, I wonder?"
"Because He never spoke directly to me like you do now. Never."
The laughter. Again. Mocking her. "For a person who uttered claims that – despite all the Chantry's teachings – the Maker himself spoke to her, you do have a strangely limited understanding of which modes of communication I would allowed to use with you and which not."
"And yet you still avoid answering my question in a downright way." Her head might have started to hurt, but – at least for now – her mind was still sharp enough.
Or at least so she thought.
The smile on Morrigan's face faded…a little. "Smart girl. Indeed I did not."
"Then at least answer me this – if you actually can: Is this yet another vision – or am I dead?"
"The answer is all around you. You might already have given it to yourself."
No answers. Only more riddles.
And then, suddenly, as if triggered by Morrigan's words, she could feel her head slowly rising up. It was no conscious movement – in fact as soon as she noticed it, she tried to fight the involuntary motion – but it felt like her head was forced to look up…just as if being pulled. Like one of those puppets on the string...those… She knew that she should know the word, but for some reason she could not find it in her mind.
I hope this is not the end. This place is really messing up my head.
"Oh, there are people who would claim that your head was already messed up before, are there not?" Morrigan replied as if reading her thoughts (and probably doing precisely that).
"People say a lot of things," Leliana said, still trying to force her head down.
"True. 'tis no proof that they are wrong, though."
No. It is not.
Already Morrigan was out of her field of vision as she started to glance higher and higher into the strange sky.
"What are you doing, girl? Why are you trying to look up?"
"I'm not! In fact, I am…"
But the words stuck in her throat as she noticed that she was indeed the one raising her head while, in truth, the invisible puppet-string tried to pull it down. How could she possible have missed that?
"Leliana, my dear, why do you turn away from me?"
A cold shiver ran down her spine as she recognized that voice. Marjolaine.
So you are changing your appearance again?
The invisible force pulling her head down increased, but so did her own efforts to do the opposite. Whatever was up there to see – it was much more inviting than her.
"Oh, Leliana, you used to be so much more fun when you weren't trying to question everything!"
Yes, I'm sure I was. Also much more gullible.
Constantly fighting the urge to lower her view, she wondered what it was that unwittingly made her search for the answer in the sky. There was nothing there, really. The rainbow, the strange sun, the rainy cloud. There literally was nothing of significance.
Except…
The bird! The single bird!
"Leliana, my dear, please stop it. Come back to me…" The voice sounded more anxious now. Good.
"It's a nightingale, isn't it?" It took all her effort to utter the words.
"You can't possible see that from here, dear! It's miles away!"
No, I cannot see. But I know it is. Because this is how it works.
"Leliana…" A glimpse of anger in Marjolaine's voice.
Don't let her get to you.
She closed her eyes and took a deep breath.
"The nightingale's flight is not yet over."
"The nightingale's flight is not yet over."
Her eyes sprang open when she suddenly heard the second voice repeating the words…no, not repeating: saying the words with her. She knew that voice.
Dorothea!
In one fluent motion, she spun around to find the Divine and a couple of other persons, hooded in white robes, all kneeling as if they were praying to her – or for her?
"The nightingale's flight is not yet over," they repeated the words in unison.
A smile appeared on Leliana's lips as comforting warmth returned into her non-body.
I knew it! I am not dead yet. I am at a crossroads, right?
"'tis true." The person right behind her said, now once more in Morrigan's voice.
Shifting shape ever more quickly now, huh? This development is not to your liking, yes?
"'tis true. You are at a crossroads. The question would be – which way do you intend to follow?"
"The nightingale's flight is not yet over." The voices of the community again.
Leliana turned towards Morrigan again, smiling. "What do you think?"
The witch looked at her without any visible emotion. "I do think that you are about to make a great mistake."
"Why? Because I would choose life over death when given the chance?"
"No, because you would refuse death when given the chance."
"The nightingale's flight is not yet over." The strange chant grew ever louder.
Leliana shook her head. "Death is not a chance. It's the inevitable. Why would I choose it when I can still return?"
"And what kind of world do you think you are returning to?"
The chanting stopped for a moment as Leliana's smile vanished.
Morrigan nodded as if confirming her own statement: "Yes, that is right: Do you really think that what happened in the Chantry does not entail consequences? You have no idea how the world has changed in just a few hours. But believe this: It is not for the better."
"But…" Leliana was taken off-balance for a moment. Still: There was a thought she clung onto: "…but she is there. Morrigan is there."
Morrigan smiled. She didn't look happy. "And answer me this: How would you know whether she still is there? That she is…still alive? Why would you choose that world over this one?"
"Because it's real!" she protested weakly.
"That is merely a matter of perspective. In the end, only death is real. And you are offered the chance to have a good death. See all this here? Nothing can hurt you! I cannot hurt you!" It were Morrigan's eyes she was looking into. The eyes of her lover. "You and I – we can be happy here forever and you will never hurt. In the other world, however…" there was infinite sadness in Morrigan's eyes. "The other world will hurt you. Always."
It was the simple truth and she knew it.
Maybe she had always known it.
"This, Leliana, is your reward. For all your past sins you have made right by the Maker. You have a clean slate now and He offers you this way out, a painless way. While the other world will make you hurt again and again. More than you can possibly bear. So tell me, Leliana: Why would you choose that other world over this one?"
Why indeed?
When it didn't matter in the end: Why go there to suffer even more? Hadn't she suffered enough already?
She took a deep breath.
And then she knew the answer.
"The nightingale's flight is not yet over."
She didn't even have to utter the words as the choral started once more right at the moment she had made up her mind. Music in her ears. Leliana closed her eyes and smiled.
I couldn't have said it any better.
When she opened them again she looked at Marjolaine.
Of course. Because Morrigan would just remind me of the reasons why I mustgo back.
The dead woman just shook her head sadly: "That's your reason? Duty? Oh, Leliana, you truly were much more fun back in the days."
…and then the pain started.
Her first impulse was to scream her lungs out as the agonizing hammers hit her all at once. Oh, she would have screamed if opening her mouth itself had produced anything more than a cough and yet more pain.
Maker, take me back. Take me back there. Make it stop.
Only the glimpse of a moment back seemed almost enough to regret her decision. It was wrong, of course. It was weakness. And in knowing that lay strength.
As she calmed down and the hammers receded to a tender, though constant sting, she realized that the first outburst of agony had been her own doing: coming back from that strange place with the windmill, her body had cringed all at once – and of course, her body was a broken wreck now.
For a moment she just lay there, breathing flatly. She wondered how much air she might have left. Obviously, she hadn't asphyxiated yet, but who could tell how long she had been down here?
The utter darkness did not help either.
For a moment she reconsidered screaming for help, but that wouldn't do it – not without a voice at least.
Here I am. No idea where. No idea where to go. And I'm broken anyway.
It would have been easy to give up. She could just wait here for the end (again) and that would have been it. After all: How much pain can a person bare?
Much more. She has taken much, much more.
The thought lightened up something in her head. A shining beacon of hope. Yes, how could she dare to even consider capitulation, when her pain was nothing compared to what a certain other women from Ferelden had endured?
Enslaved in a foreign land. Betrayed by her husband. Thrown to the wolves for torture, pain and humiliation. Redeemed solely by the piercing of a sword through her heart while being burnt to death.
That woman, too, had been spoken to by Him and she had never, for a second doubted what He had planned for her – despite being hurt, wounded and humiliated on every step of the way.
'In the Maker's law and creations, she shall know / The peace of the Maker's benediction'…
As one moment had flown into the next, the words had appeared in her head. She would have spoken them herself if she could, but nevertheless: even as an echo in her head, she could feel their strength.
'…The Light shall lead her safely…'
She started to move her limps. It did take just the fracture of a second (and a hot, stinging pain) to realize that her left arm was definitely useless.
'…Through the paths of this world, and into the next…'
The same held true for the leg. At least the left one. Broken? Possibly. Likely.
'…For she who trusts in the Maker, fire is water…'
However: The right arm felt numb and bruised, but she could still move it. She counted that as a win. No outcry of triumph, naturally. Still…
'…As the moth sees light and goes toward the flames…'
The left hand is broken while the right is still strong. She smiled grimly. Cassandra would just love that irony…
'…She should see fire and go towards Light…'
Orientation. Now, that was a problem.
'…The Veil holds no uncertainty for her…'
Then again: There was literally no way to tell which direction was which. She could try to push herself up toward the surface or even further down into the ruins of the building – and she would still be totally oblivious to it until she either reached the surface…or suffocated.
'…And she will know no fear of death, for the Maker…'
So she just pushed. It took all her effort and once more she was on the brink of crying out triumphantly as she did indeed move.
'…Shall be her beacon and her shield…'
The daggers shooting through her veins pushed tears in her eyes which mixed with the dirt and made them burn like a fire. She could feel hot tears running down her cheeks and felt unable to open her eyes. Not that they did her any good here.
'…Her foundation and her sword.'
The verse ended. And though she had pulled with all the strength she could muster up with only one limb, she had barely moved half the length of her lower arm. It was in fact just barely more than nothing.
This will take an eternity.
But still she smiled in grim determination: Fortunately, she knew a lot of other verses.
'Though all before me is shadow / Yet the Maker shall be my guide…'
It was difficult to bear. He could try to comprehend, try to make sense of it and to rationalize what it was meant to be.
A lesson? A demonstration? Closure?
"No more half-measures", these words were already famous.
The justification for this.
Yet, as he stood before it, there was no use denying that this sight was anything else but the aftermath of a catastrophe. A barren wasteland of dirt, dust and debris.
It was a strange thing: Like so many others, he had come here from Ferelden with hopes that Kirkwall could be a new beginning, a new home. In all these years it never had. Like so many others he had stood in awe before the huge building-that-was-no-more and adored its beauty and power. But unlike those others, his adoration could never have been more than a superficial one. It was a beautiful architecture, an impressive sight – but it would never be a shelter, a safe haven for him or his kind. It was the very symbol for the fact that there would never be safety for them.
So yes: Kirkwall's chantry had mirrored that feeling of a city that could never be his home. And yet, now that it was gone, it felt as if something was missing.
A beautiful sentiment, but you should not be here.
It was a wise thought, that one. The man had to admit that. If any Templar found him, a mage, here, he would be killed on sight – nothing was holding them back anymore.
Clarity. The need for a clear cut. That's what has started this.
The Circle was done for and abandoned. Any mage here in Kirkwall was running for dear life – and so should he. But still he had felt the need to come here, to see first hand how it had begun.
He sighed as he rose up from the rubble he had sat on in silent mourn for all the victims of last night's event and just as he was about to set his feet in motion for the inevitable flight that would be the rest of his life, he hesitated.
For a second it had seemed as if…
Impossible. You need to go. Now.
The thoughts became more emphatic, aggressive. An instinct that demanded obedience. But still he couldn't dissipate that sensation that he had just witnessed a movement where none could possibly be.
Ghosts. Your mind playing tricks on you.
But there it was again. Right there in the debris of what once was a home of the Maker. A sound – increasing, persistent, frantic.
And then he saw the hand.
It was impossible. Utterly unthinkable. And yet, the impossible hand reached through the rubble.
Run. It's dead. A living dead.
He had seen those, of course. Corpses rising, guided by a dark and despicable kind of magic. Driven forward to haunt the living…or just doomed to not be left in peace. But this was not it.
Curiously – and against the ever louder voice in his head – he moved closer and when he heard the faint, muffled voice, he could no longer help it.
What are you doing!?
It was madness. It did not make sense in the least. He realized that as he took the hand and frantically started to dig. Even if there was someone, there was small chance that it could be anyone else but an enemy.
But what if it wasn't? What if was an innocent citizen who happened to be in the chantry at the wrong time? Could he live with that?
Yes, you can. You must! How many innocent died since yesterday? How many did you kill yourself?
But his mind had lost the battle the very moment he had touched the hand and felt the desperate grip. The fear of the possible consequences – what did it matter when there was a life to save? Even if it was just one.
His heart made a leap as soon as he had gotten the head free and eyes wide open stared at him. It was the best blasted thing that had happened since what felt like an eternity. She – only the voice gave away that it was indeed a woman – started to make noises in a futile attempt to speak while trying to wrestle herself out of her stone prison. Only muffled, unintelligible noises and coughs escaped her throat, but that did not matter for now. What did was the fact that together they were able to get her out of there. More than once the woman gave a shriek of pain and despite his best effort to concentrate on the important thing here, he could not help but wonder if it would attract attention.
It will. Go. Go now!
Endless minutes later it was done and as the woman lay stretched out before him, gasping to get air while at the same time coughing out the dust and ashes (and blood), he finally got a chance to look at her properly.
She was a mess, of course. Covered all over in dirt and dust, her robe torn and her face a mixture of blood and grime, he could immediately make out the most obvious sources of her agonized shrieks: her left arm was broken, probably more than once, and her left leg looked twisted and battered as well.
With shaking hands he pulled out the waterskin from under his robe and helped her to get some of the liquid down her throat.
"Listen to me! Can you hear me? Do you know where you are?"
"I…," she coughed out, "I…was at the…the windmill."
Disorientation. Possibly a concussion. The limbs had to wait then. He needed to start at the head.
What are you doing?
He ignored it and concentrated as he did what he did best. He healed. Or at least he tried. He was exhausted, the magical energy he had wielded at templars and guardsmen alike had taken its toll and he felt drained and tired, but still… Maker, he was a healer! This is what he did!
He was brilliant at healing, always had been. Maybe he should have concentrated on that instead, found another way, another life. But that was not important now. What mattered was the girl, muttering nonsensical gibberish with a strong Orlesian accent.
The painful downside of healing magic was the connection you formed with the patients, the way to sense their aches and pains from the inside – and this girl was clearly in agony.
How can you do this? Now? You have to run! Run! Run!
She did calm down a little when he was done with the leg. He had mended what he could and on the outside the leg looked relatively good though she would still feel the pain for days. But as soon as he turned over to the arm, he knew that his pools would be drained soon. He would give his best and then she would have to see for herself.
You had better left her there. She deserved it.
It took all of his energy to not cry out loud against the voice, tell his own head that nobody did deserve this and that this girl had paid her debts even if she were the cruellest and coldest templar questioner in disguise. It mattered not.
But he resisted the urge to cry out, justify this to the voice. Instead he did what needed to be done.
"Can you speak? Do you know your name?"
"…"
"It doesn't matter. Listen to me carefully, because I do not have much time. Take this…," he fumbled out the last healing potion left, put it in her hand and closed her fingers around it, "Drink this and then make your way into this direction. The city guard, they're treating the badly wounded in the old barracks, just near the smithy. You cannot miss it."
"You…"
"I…I have to go. I'm sorry. I did all I could. But you will pull through, do you understand me? You will live."
Kill her. Here and now. No witnesses. No remorse.
The voice got louder, more powerful. He would not be able to resist longer, not as fatigued as he was right now. Once more he pressed her fingers together around the vial to emphasize and jumped up.
Out. Fast.
"You…you…thank you, serah. You…you are a good man."
It was a weak and faint sound, but the words rang in his head.
"No," he said as he turned around to hurry off, "No, I'm not."
And then he started running as fast as he could.
Coughing was the worst.
Even though there was no longer blood coming out when she was forced to clear her throat the hard way, every cough still made her whole body flinch – an awful reminder of just how broken that wreck of a body still was.
Oh, and that burning dryness in her throat! She had greedily gulped down even the last drop out of the waterskin the stranger had left here as he had hurried off, but it helped naught. Right now, she could probably drink out the whole of Lake Calenhad and it would not be enough to get rid of the seemingly endless amount of dust in her mouth.
It doesn't matter. I'm alive, no?
It was a strange thought, miraculous even, but it did help to remind her of what was really important. Her head might be throbbing, her legs shaky and any movement of her left arm might send a stinging lance of pure agony through the limb – still she was alive.
That has to suffice. Well, at least for the moment.
Walking still felt odd. Her legs seemed fragile as if made out of glass, but at the same time she did not have as much feeling in there to make her clumsy movements towards the streets actually painful.
Possibly an effect of the potion he gave me.
It reminded her of the fact that in her hand she still held the rest of the potion the man had pressed in her hand before storming off in what seemed a mild panic. Hastily she opened it with one hand and dashed down the bittersweet liquid, thankful for the short moment of wetness in her mouth. It did not do much, but in her current situation even the little invigoration it could provide was helpful.
'No, I am not' the man had answered when she had called him a good person and she had known it to be true. There had been something, something behind those eyes that would have made her instantly refuse any help he had offered under normal circumstances. Her words had been polite, like what one might have expected from a person just barely saved from her certain death, yet her bard instincts had told her that this was a troubled man, possibly even dangerous.
But without his help I might have not been able to make it out.
It was the simple truth of it. You couldn't always choose with whom you were stuck and it was sheer luck that the man had been there, at this most forsaken and depressing place, at that exact time.
No. No luck.
All her life she had doubted. Her decisions. Her actions. Her beliefs. But no longer. Doubt had brought her nothing but sorrow and pain. And from what the woman in her dreams had prophesized to her there was plenty of that ahead anyway.
'More than you can possibly bear'.
Doubt was poison. Faith and instinct – they had always guided her way. There might be as many explanations of how and why she had survived this as there were truths in this world. But all that mattered was her truth. She knew that He had plans for her. Good ones or bad – it was insignificant. There was a path made for her and she would follow it to the very end, through bitterness and joy.
The nightingale's flight is not yet over.
Nobody might believe what she had experienced, but she was long used to that by now. She knew the truth. Well: she knew a truth in any way. Of course Morrigan would reject this. She would say that she had somehow saved herself out of sheer survival instinct and that she had been hallucinating, her panicking mind sending her images to muster up the strength necessary to crawl out of her grave because that was how instincts worked. She might even be right. But still: Morrigan had no idea how it felt to…
Morrigan!
A spontaneous curse escaped her lips, making a single passerby cringe…or maybe that was due to her undoubtedly frightening appearance.
How could she have forgotten about her? Ever since she had escaped from her dirty tomb her thoughts had been on literally everything except Morrigan: the mysterious stranger, her experiences in the ruins, her doubts and her path – Maker, even the thought of the necessity to inform Dorothea of both her survival and her failure had crossed her mind (she could already feel Cassandra's merciless 'I told you so'-glance on her, which the Seeker would without any doubt honor her with, the moment she had to admit that Elthina did indeed become a target). But she had not considered Morrigan. Why? Was she such a selfish, horrible person?
No, it's fear.
It was as simple as that. Pathetic as it might be, she was afraid because she did not know where Morrigan was and how to find her. Afraid that the witch was…gone.
And maybe worst of all: She was afraid that nothing that had happened here would have changed anything for Morrigan. What if the witch had already heard what had taken place, what ordeal Leliana had gone through? And what if Morrigan – even if she could somehow find her and tell her all about it – would just stare at her as coldly as she had during their last conversation…and turn away? What then? How could she deal with that?
'More than you can possibly bear'.
She was surprised that there actually was enough water in her to form tears, but she fought them back regardlessly. No time for that.
No doubts. You need to find her. Make this right. Just as you had planned.
The thought did bring some new courage with it – or maybe it was just the potion kicking in with a delay. She could see herself again, standing up before Morrigan and tell her how she truly felt. Then it would be up to the witch.
No more half-measures.
She noticed that she had suddenly stopped – and more then that: that she had just stumbled through the streets aimlessly before, while the important question should have been 'Where to go'?
Sundermount was not really an option. She was in no condition to ride anywhere, even in the highly unlikely case that she could get a horse somewhere in the middle of the night. Were there even horses? Was the city in utter chaos? From the few people she had seen on the streets she could not tell. And besides that: Who said that this was the same night it had happened? For all she knew she might have spent days in that odd place with the windmill. Or seconds.
I know nothing.
Finally a clever and structured thought. Right now, she could not tell anything with certainty. Despite her disastrous condition she needed to be smart and on top of her game here – assessing the situation like a bard…or an agent of the Divine.
So: Where to go?
Counting out some shady tavern in Lowtown she had spent some time at gathering information on her visit months ago, she could literally only think of two places to turn to.
Actually…just one.
She felt painfully reminded that the other lay in ruins.
So the Hawke Estate then.
It was the logical choice. Before going to the chantry, she had left the little luggage she travelled with at the place. The thought of putting on some clean clothes did sound charming. Besides that: If this Hawke was actually the young man she knew back from her time in Lothering – and she was fairly sure that he was – he might be willing to help her out with bandages, food or (an enticing thought!) even a quick bath. For Isabela's sake.
Isabela!
Now that was an interesting point. If she was not already there with her friend, Hawke might know where to find her, shed some light on the things that had happened – and the whereabouts of Merrill…and thus Morrigan. Isabela was the key to learn about them.
With the Viscount's Keep she quickly identified a useful orientation point and made her way through the streets of Hightown. It was not a long way by foot, but in her condition it seemed to stretch endlessly. The more she moved, the more she became aware of how shattered she still felt.
Rest. More than clothes, bandages and the bath…I will need a place to rest.
When she finally arrived at the estate, she was very much at the end of her ropes, fatigued as if she had been awake for three days, aching as if…well, as if a building had collapsed on her.
Just a few more steps.
Strangely enough, the door was ajar. A welcome sight? She wasn't sure.
Better be careful. In the middle of the night…
The idea of running into a bunch of thieves or other lowlifes was not particularly intriguing, so she decided to take the silent approach.
She had half expected the door to make a loud creaking noise as she carefully opened it up a little to take a peak inside, but luckily the Champion of Kirkwall seemed to prefer his household in a good shape…and his front door well-oiled.
As quickly as possible (which was not very quick at all when walking on glass-legs) she moved into the entrance room and pressed herself against the wall.
Voices. Upstairs.
"…going all blood-mage and killing other people who had nothing to do with anything…"
Isabela!
The familiar voice made her give a sigh of relief, even if the pirate sounded irritated. No thieves then. Well: no thieves who were not actual friends of the house-owner, at least. Leliana decided to move forward into the main room. If memory served right, that place upstairs was to the left.
"…at everyone else's throats, killing hundreds of totally unrelated people because apparently that is justice. And now you come along and decide to go after Anders…"
Maker, she is really angry!
There was a brief moment of amusement as Leliana tried to imagine the face of the guy getting this rant right at his face, but if it was Hawke he would probably be able to deal with it. If he was the person being addressed.
Then she froze.
"I am sorry for Le…your girlfriend, Morrigan. am sorry for Le…your girlfriend, Morrigan. She was a really, really nice gal..."
Morrigan?
It was as if she had hit a brick-wall. Figuratively, this time…
Morrigan?!
Her lips formed the name, but no sound would come out. Could it be? Could she be here? A sudden warmth felt her belly.
"No! 'tis different!"
Despite the violent and angry tone, hearing her voice sent a shiver down her spine. A warm, comfortable shiver. Tears of joy filled her eyes. And Isabela had mentioned Morrigan's 'girlfriend'…were they talking about her?
She is here. My Morrigan!
"Yeah? How so? Because this time it was you getting a kick in the arse? Because this time it was not a stranger going down but someone that you knew?" Isabela again.
With all the strength left in her, Leliana moved towards the doorframe, trying to shout, willing to blurt it out all at once, but only a cough and some hoarse nothingness escaped her mouth. She moved towards the door. Morrigan!
"BECAUSE I LOVED HER!"
Words were powerful. All her life she had said that and believed in it with all her heart. The right words could entice you, anger you, and touch you deep inside. But for the very first time in her life Leliana felt words pulling away the floor under her feed. As her knees gave in, it took her an effort to cling to the doorframe.
She said it.
The right words could touch you deep inside…and there were no words more right than those she had just heard.
She said it.
Oh, what wouldn't she have given for those words? Anything! Anything just to hear this woman say it. No sacrifice would have been too high for this.
Well, for all I know I died and came back. That is something.
She just wanted to lie down on the floor, cry with joy and wrap her arms around her as if embracing the words, never ever willing to let them go.
Instead she rose up again, clinging to the last bit of strength. And she cried. She cried out her name. It was a faint, whimpering sound, but it was all that she had left. It would have to be enough.
She said it.
Something is amiss.
It was one of those moments where one could just sense that there was something in the air, something incomprehensible. Nobody moved; nobody gave a sound. Isabela and Merrill just stared dumbfounded as if her outburst from a few moments ago was still ringing in their ears. And yet…
…yet there was something distinctly curious in the way their bodies had given a start a few seconds ago. As if reacting to a sudden movement.
Or a sound. As if they were hearing something.
But there was just utter silence except for the voice in her head, which still…
Her eyes widened as a thought sank in.
'tis not in my head.
It was not possible, of course. They could not be hearing the voice of a dead woman. How could they?
But they do.
And then she ran.
She ran straight to the railing, hurriedly letting her gaze wander over the whole room…and froze dead when she saw her.
Her.
It was a wreck of a woman standing there in the doorframe, barely able to stand on her feet. She was covered in dust, ashes and blood all over, her clothes torn rags of a robe, something even the poorest beggar would refuse to wear. She swayed dangerously on her seemingly fragile legs, her left arm broken in such an obvious way that it pained her just to look at it. Her face, barely freed from all the dirt was covered in blood, her hair ragged and torn and burnt. It was a pitiful creature standing there.
And it was the single most beautiful sight her eyes had ever beheld.
It is her. It cannot be. And yet it is.
The girl's eyes fixated her as she tried to cough out a few unintelligible words.
"Leliana?!" Morrigan managed wide-eyed. In all likelihood it was the silliest one-word-question in the history of Thedas.
"…heard what…you said…" the girl coughed.
"Leliana!" Morrigan stormed down the stairs, not letting her eyes of her for a second, out of fear that the girl would be gone if she just dared to blink. "How…?"
"Say it…" another dry cough interrupted Leliana. "Say…it again."
For a split-second Morrigan had no idea what she was talking about. Her head was spinning, overwhelmed by the sight of the woman who just had to be dead.
It was a whole blasted building! How could she possibly…
She made another step towards the woman, but Leliana recoiled in a – in all likelihood – painful manner, raising her hand and pointing at her.
"You…will say…it again…right now!"
"What is…?"
"No!" Tears filled the girl's eyes, but in wild defiance she remained in her position. "No 'What', no 'How', no 'tis', Morrigan… I heard you say it…and I demand you to say it again…right into my face." It was a surreal sight, the battered and beaten girl, a creature that could barely stand straight, demanding anything in a tone that would make a nobleman flinch.
She wants what you have denied her.
The realization rendered her utterly speechless. Leliana had just heard her saying it, had she not? She was barely in any shape to speak at all. She needed help now! And still that was all she would care about?
The mad sparkle in her eyes left no doubt about that. "Speak…the words, Morrigan. Look…into my eyes and…and…speak them now…or I…I swear I will crawl back…into my grave. SAY IT!"
Her heart was pounding wildly, her throat was dry. She has said it before, had she not? The words were strange and unfamiliar, but they were right. They were true. They were…pure. And they were choking her.
Again she needed to fight back the tears as she looked in Leliana's blue eyes, begging…no demanding what was hers.
"I…" she started, fighting against the chains that had been lain upon her decades ago by an old woman who would never allow her to say what she needed to say. What she longed to shout out aloud for the entire world to hear. 'Weakness' she would call it, and: 'pathetic'.
But the chains no longer bound her now. Nothing bound her.
Never again.
"I love you, Leliana." It was a hoarse crackling voice, not the proud and powerful shout she had intended, but it had to do. And the sudden smile on Leliana's face proved that it did – a smile that turned the pitiful creature into a breathtaking sight that no beauty in the world could compare with. Proud Andraste in all her shining glory could stand here right now and would seem a fade beside her. Leliana nodded, tears running down her cheeks. And Morrigan could not help it: "There you have it! I love you, you crazy, foolish little…"
The rest of the sentence was lost in the embrace as the girl flung herself against Morrigan with little to no regard of the pain that it surely caused her. Morrigan buried her own face deep in the bard's shoulder inhaling the reek of ash and blood as if it were the smell of a beautiful flower. Which it was. She tasted blood as her lips sought Leliana's – and she did not care. Because somewhere deep down there, beyond the layers of filfth and blood was another taste. Leliana.
Pure and untainted Leliana.
Then she heard that voice again. A faint whisper next to her ear in that cheery soothing voice: "Thank you. And just in case you were wondering, this means: I love you, too."
And at his very moment, Morrigan decided to finally break a vow a foolish young girl had once sworn, long ago. And her head resting on the shoulder of her one true love, the Witch of the Wild cried like a baby.
Leliana's arm slung over her shoulders, Morrigan supported the girl as they entered the bedroom. The Hawke Estate sure held more bedrooms than one might have expected for a supposed bachelor with no family left whatsoever – the typical decadence of a man come to power. And a room for the sole purpose of taking a bath? Morrigan had seen this before, of course, but she never actually got the point.
Still: As she walked Leliana towards the bed, she was thankful for the bath and the bed. And for Isabela graciously offering both. Somehow Morrigan refused to believe that the woman had been given any authority by the actual owner – but she also had her doubts that he would dare objecting to anything Isabela said if he had been here right at this moment.
He would be too busy not drowning in a flood of words from Merrill, anyway.
Looking at Leliana now, she once again stood in awe before the almighty power of a good bath. The girl sure looked much better now. Less blood. Less dirt. More face. Water – it sure was a miracle.
Her Beloved was limping a little, but Morrigan had noticed that she didn't actually need her support to walk. The girl was in better shape than expected. In much better shape than she possibly should be, given the fact that a blasted Chantry just fell on her…
But still Leliana leaned on her as if she was the only thing holding her upright. It was a ridiculous act, a shameless display with the sole purpose of gaining her touch and her attention.
And Morrigan couldn't care less.
As she gently lay her girlfriend down on the comfortable bed, she could not help but wonder how that girl went from one disaster into the next – and just kept surviving while literally everything crumbled around her. She had been right in the middle of it all, and yet: Here she was. Battered and bruised, her face swollen, her ankle sprained, her arm possibly broken – and smiling. It was the second most beautiful thing Morrigan's eyes ever beheld.
But why is she grinning like a fool?
"Why are you grinning like a fool?" (It sure felt good to have mind and tongue aligned again)
Her smile grew wider if that was even physically possible. "Well, I just had to think of something," she said.
"And what would that be, I wonder?"
"Remember that time you admitted that you love me?"
"That was not even an hour ago."
"Exactly. Remember that? That was beautiful, no?"
Morrigan sighed. "I shall never hear the end of that, shall I?"
Leliana giggled like a little girl. "Of course not! From now on I will remind you every single day. I might even wake you up at night and ask you to say it again…"
Morrigan stared at her, feeling her jaw drop. She can't possibly…? Then it finally sunk in.
"'tis a jest, right? You are japing?"
Leliana laughed wholeheartedly, a noise more beautiful than any song ever uttered (and Morrigan sure would never use that phrase openly – it would doom her to a life full of sentimental sighs and giggles).
"Of course it is. Though that startled look on your face might make me reconsider." A cheeky smile remained on her face, but her voice grew softer. "Come to bed, Beloved."
Now that was a good plan, Morrigan decided. She had never been the one for the comfortable beds the nobles seemed to prefer – but tonight…well, after all the events of today it sure did feel good.
The Witch of the Wild lay next to her lover and carefully placed her arm around Leliana, the bard immediately cuddling herself against Morrigan.
"Please tell me the truth," Leliana began, "My hair's still a mess, no?"
It took a moment for Morrigan to let this most ridiculous of all question sink in. Then she sighed. "'tis a disaster. You might very well scare a demon off with that." For that she received a poke – and yet another awfully wonderful chuckle.
She placed a kiss on Leliana's forehead before she went on. "I presume that any word out of your mouth tonight will be another foolish jest – or shall I ever hear anything sensible from you?"
Leliana pouted. "You can always try."
Morrigan turned her head and looked her deep in the eyes. "How do you feel?"
For a moment, the girl blinked (possibly considering yet another witty nonsensical reply) but her voice did sound serious now. "Better, I think. Your magic did help. A little. How come that you're such a powerful witch…but not good at Healing?"
"I just am."
"But why? Couldn't you learn? Or are you just born with certain skills?"
Morrigan grimaced. She might have learnt. But unfortunately she had the wrong teacher. The kind who had other things in mind for her then healing people. Not the nice kind of things.
Not the nice kind of lessons either.
"So, are we debating the deeper mechanisms of magic now?" she answered the question with a question. And a heavy sarcastic undertone that wouldn't have been missed by even the slowest Tranquil.
But Leliana still didn't seem inclined to give up yet. "I just found that curious. The other mage, the one at the Chantry, he was much better at healing."
"Well, maybe you should be lying next to him then."
"Hm, no. He looked troubled."
"I imagine that this might hold true for many a mage in the days to come."
"Yes, I suppose so." She could feel Leliana shifting uncomfortably as the girl seemed to remember what they were actually talking about right now.
Blasted! I should take her mind off the problems – not right into the trouble that lies ahead. Well, it was too late for that now.
"What happened here – it will have consequences."
"It would be foolish to assume otherwise."
"Do you think that it might be the end?"
"No, 'tis but a beginning. But of what I cannot say." And then before she even knew what happened she found herself murmuring…The Words: "'We stand upon the precipice of change. The world fears the inevitable plummet into the abyss. Watch for that moment…and when it comes…do not hesitate to leap. It is only when you fall that you learn whether you can fly…'" The words the elven girl had mentioned. The ones echoing in her mind with that one voice that would summon the dark cloud in the back of her head once more.
Did she mean this? Unlikely. Petty quarrels between mages and templars – even if leading to an open war in the end – that is hardly something she would grace with more than just an indifferent nod. No, it must be something larger. Maybe…maybe she can sense it, too?
"That was…beautiful."
Leliana's voice broke through the silence Morrigan had not even noticed.
"What do you mean?"
"Well, these words you just recited. They did sound beautiful in a way. They also reminded me of my vision in Lothering. Is…is it a poem?"
Now wasn't that just typical? She couldn't remember if Leliana had ever called any of her words 'beautiful'. But recite something Mother said and 'tis sweeter than a minstrel's tale.
Morrigan laughed humourlessly. "She has been called many a thing, but 'poetic'? Now that would indeed be new."
The girls raised her eyebrows. "Flemeth? These are Flemeth's words?"
And to think that I used to consider her slow on the uptake…
"Yes. Yes, they are. At least according to that foolish elven girl."
"Merrill? She knew Flemeth?"
"Barely. Before she resurrected her…"
And before she could help it Morrigan found herself reciting the whole story of her findings about Flemeth, few as they were. It was hardly a subject to lighten up the mood, but going back to mages blowing up chantries was not really an option either. At least this one had the benefit of Leliana resting her head against Morrigan's shoulder again. Whether this was a conscious act of compassion or not, she could not tell. Often enough Flemeth had told her how ridiculous the notion of "someone being there for you in hard times" was and how the idea of body contact soothing one's mind was nothing but an illusion weak people made up when incapable to face their problems on their own.
It did help though.
Yet another painful lesson disproven by reality.
When she was done, she could see the question coming: "Will she come after you?"
"'tis hard to predict when it comes to Flemeth. She might try to find me. She might already have. Or she could wait for me to hunt her. I…cannot say."
Morrigan knew what would come next. Which questions would inevitably come to Leliana's mind right now. They were the hardest ones – because she had no answer to them.
'What about me?'
'Will she come after me when she learns about us?'
'Will I be safe or must I run?'
'Can you protect me if she comes for me to hurt you, Morrigan?'
Her thoughts were racing, contemplating the outcome of either answer, desperately trying to find the right one.
Only, to her amazement, Leliana never asked.
All the girl did was plant a soft kiss on her lips and press herself against her even more. Leliana could babble all day long about the most absurd nothingness you could think of, asking both the most clever and the most foolish questions alike – and yet, in this moment she did the only good thing: She remained silent.
And for that alone Morrigan loved her.
It made the next words even harder. But as silence fell and the subject of Flemeth was dealt with Morrigan realized that there was one last thing left to deal with. It wasn't nice and probably not fair towards Leliana, but she knew she needed the answer sooner or later.
Better be done with it here and now. However hurtful that might be.
"Leliana…"
"You are not seriously going to ask me about my past with Isabela now, no?"
Morrigan blinked. How could she have seen that coming?
"Please…" she began, hoping that the use of her least favourite word in the world would emphasize how important it was to be done with this once and for all. "Please…I just need to know."
Suddenly Leliana rose herself up in the bed, supporting her head with the badly hurt arm in a manner that just had to be painful. She did not show any signs of that as she fixed Morrigan with her eyes, though. "Really?" she asked, neither irritated, nor hurt. "Do you?"
There was something oddly familiar to this. An undertone in Leliana's soft voice evoked a feeling that she had never thought to succumb to again: It was like a lesson. And once more Morrigan was the little girl that was asked to clarify what she had just learnt. For a moment the witch thought she could feel the dark cloud forming again. But the blue eyes of her Beloved put an end to that: No, this was not a painful lesson. No punishment for not learning what she was expected to learn. No edges.
And then she understood. That battered, bruised and wounded face itself was the answer and the lesson. Because as she looked at it, looked at her and as she recalled that feeling of pure and untainted joy and happiness at the sight of this face in the hallway an hour ago, right then the point was clear.
"No", she said to her own astonishment, "No, you are absolutely right. I need to apologize, Leliana. It does not matter what was before us. It never has. We – that is all that is important."
A smile returned to the girl's face as she sank back onto Morrigan's shoulder. Was that relief? Or…pride?
"You have learned that now, yes? You understand it?"
"Yes."
"Good. And because of that I will tell you the truth."
Morrigan frowned. It was an utterly ridiculous logic – and most absurdly, it made perfect sense. In a way. Leliana's mind did work in mysterious ways sometimes…
"I have never lied to you, Morrigan, and I swear by the Maker himself that this, too, is the truth: Nothing ever happened between me and Isabela. Not in the real world."
"That is…a rather curious way to phrase your answer, I daresay."
Leliana laughed. "Yes, it probably is. The thing is this: Back in the days then when we went to the Pearl with Elissa and when we first met Isabela, I noticed the way she looked at me. Her…intentions were quite clear. But even though I enjoyed it, I never allowed for anything more than that…except for in the stories."
"The stories?" Morrigan got more puzzled by the minute. What is she talking about?
Leliana sighed. "Well, it's silly really…but sometimes when I was in my tent late at night…I got really lonely. And some nights my thoughts went back to…bad times." Her voice trembled a little and of course Morrigan knew what she was talking about – and cursed herself for leading back there. "And whenever I got too lonely, I made up one of those silly stories to make me feel better…'The innocent Sister and her valiant Warden', 'The innocent Sister stumbles upon the bathing witch'…well, and 'The innocent Sister is taken away by the pirate queen'…"
Morrigan had to laugh. "That Sister sure doesn't sound that 'innocent' to me…"
The girl made a pout…not hiding her own amusement very well, though. "My dear Morrigan," she announced in a fake-grave tone, "These are stories! Everything is possible in the magic world of imagination."
They both shared to laugh. And of course it made sense. Of course she would make up stories like that. Of course she would occupy herself with wild fantasies like that to avoid the darkness behind her – and possibly in front of her. That just was the Leliana she had gotten to know during the Blight and –
Wait…what had she said?
"Ah… Did you – just mention that you had fantasies about me back then?"
"Does that really surprise you?"
"No."
Of course not.
After all that she had learned about this girl, there really should not have been the least doubt about that. Morrigan's hostile behavior towards her back then, all her insults, all the jokes about everything Leliana held dear and all the open disdain she had shown towards the girl quite literally whenever she had dared to open her mouth – these were just trifles in the girl's head. Minor details. Nothing to stand in the way for a good love story, surely. Instead she felt a blush coming up at the thought of what wild fantasies Leliana might have had there. About her. Alone in her tent.
"Anyway – I think you see it now. When I noticed Isabela's glances it…well, it just felt good. I'll admit that. So, occasionally when we were in Denerim and you and the others were wandering around with Elissa and I was bored at camp, I sneaked back into the Pearl. I met her there a few times, and whenever she saw me, she'd spare me a drink and we would talk and she would…" Morrigan could literally feel her go red in the face without having to look. "…sit really close to me. Making body contact, putting her hands around my thighs and the like and - you know…say things."
"I…can imagine. She's not exactly a subtle person."
Leliana giggled. "No, not at all. And I let her because I enjoyed it. Nothing really happened, but yes, I'll admit to this: I enjoyed feeling desired again…in a non-hurtful way."
Her voice became a whisper at the last words. Morrigan could only imagine why.
No, don't let her walk down that path again. You got your answers. There's no need for that now.
Of course: Leliana's dark memories would come back – Morrigan knew that. But they had found ways to deal with that. And tonight was not the night. They both had been through the deepest pits of despair and back tonight – and they deserved better than that. So it was up to her to stop this conversation from going down the dark path.
"Leliana, tell it to me," she stated right into the creeping silence.
"Tell you what?"
"The story. You know. The one about the inncocent Sister and the witch…"
Leliana made big eyes, obviously taken aback by that request. "I…don't think that would be appropriate. You wouldn't want to hear such a silly old story."
"I assume 'tis a dirty one?"
"Yes." Leliana blushed again, a bit ashamed by her lover's request to talk about her earliest fantasies. But there also was a hint of something else – excitement. Already her voice turned into the voice of a storyteller. "Yes, it is. After all the witch is not that pleased with the Sister stumbling upon her like that, as you might imagine…"
Morrigan smirked.
Yes, I can picture that.
Gently, she caressed Leliana's bruised cheek. "Please. Tell it to me," she breathed.
And so the bard ended doing what she did best: she told a story. In all details. After that, there was no thought of sleep for a long time.